What Have I Done?
by SassyJ
Summary: AU. Sally Armstrong makes a mistake, and Stuart Turner is shot because of it. With everyone against her, Sally struggles to cope with the fallout, to her surprise, Stuart defends her actions.
1. Chapter 1

Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs. _What have I done?_ She re-ran the events of the day in her mind.

She'd never worked with DS Turner before, not side-by-side at any rate. And she had heard enough from her friends who had, in full eye-rolling detail, to know that he was smug, fussy and arrogant to work with. So, having been given the assignment and after exchanging pleasantries, she listened to what he had to say, after which she just had to make a suggestion. The brown eyes had pinned her with a frosty glare. "PC Armstrong, I want you to watch... and record. And then radio in at the first sign of movement. Can you do that?"

She had done her own share of eye-rolling then. He was so rigid and fussy... and rude. She hadn't quite been out of earshot when he made that remark about her being an airhead to Inspector Weston. He had meant her to hear, she knew it.

So Sally had sat in the car next to him, doing a silent slow burn at his comments. He wasn't precisely the chatty type, so making conversation was a non-starter even had she wanted to. Sitting in slightly hostile silence, Sally had wished it had been Callum sitting next to her, or Will, or even Max Carter. Anyone but Stuart Turner. A short snatch blared through on the radio. Stuart had answered, "yes, guv." A request for him to join DI Manson around the corner.

He had looked around before opening the car door. Had turned back to her and said: "Stay put. Watch, record and radio. Nothing more."

Biting back the urge to say something rude in return, Sally just replied: "yes, sarge."

"Good." He'd slipped away, keeping to the shadows.

Sally had glared after him in frustration. Did he really think she was stupid? She was perfectly capable of following a suspect.

She sat. And waited. And idly tapped her foot against the side of the footwell. Then she saw _him_, the target. He looked nervous, clutching a plastic shopping bag as though it was a lifeline. No Stuart, no back-up. What had they expected her to do, lose him? Of course she was going to follow.

So she had followed him, after announcing to everyone on the radio that she was pursuing Suspect One on foot. And discreetly followed at a distance. She kept to the shadows. Hurried quietly along the hedge, tracking him. He rounded the corner, so she had quickened her pace a little. Stepped round the corner...where he was waiting for her. She had time to register footsteps behind her before she had seen the gun in the suspect's hand. A weight cannoned into her and a loud bang came from somewhere in front of her, before the weight bore her to the ground.

She sat hard down on the pavement. Stuart Turner was sprawled on top of her. He was heavy, and for a moment she couldn't think why he would be lying on top of her. She had sat up and when she moved to push him away, her hand encountered something wet. There was a rushing noise in her ears, and even though she had been able to hear the shouts of her colleagues and the pounding of feet, it all seemed far away, like above the surface of a lake she was submerged in. She knew she had pushed aside his jacket, feeling for the wound; she knew her fingers met what seemed like an enormous hole in his shoulder; she knew she followed procedure and attempted to stem the flow of Stuart Turner's blood over her jeans and shirt. But the sum of her knowledge was limited. Events were hazy, disconnected, and made no sense.

The only sense she could make of any of it now was that Stuart Turner was in surgery, after having been shot... and it was all her fault. If she closed her eyes, she could still picture _his_ eyes glaring at her. She could still hear his voice admonishing her to stay put. To do as she was told. She hadn't. She had disobeyed him, and now he was broken and bleeding on the operating table, and it was all her fault.

She wouldn't leave him. She couldn't. She had done so much damage already. What if he died because of her? All around her people came and went. Callum Stone had accompanied her and Stuart to the hospital. As they were taking Stuart to where she couldn't follow, Stone's big hand closed over her arm. Firmly. He didn't hurt her, but she sensed he might want to. He pushed her gently but firmly into an examination cubicle. She wanted to protest.

"Stay put."

She sat. And stayed put this time. And watched. And wondered what she had done. Whether she had just killed her sergeant. And wished she could turn the clock back.

Jo, Stevie and Grace passed by her, heading towards intensive care. Inspector Weston, Callum Stone, then DI Manson, and lastly the DCI. She watched the anxious procession and curled into herself a little more.

_What have I done?_


	2. Chapter 2

Getting through the day was tough as she had been made to tell her story over and over again. First to Stone, whose icy distance frightened her. Then Inspector Weston, who hauled her over the coals for her disobedience. Then she climbed the stairs to CID.

If she'd thought her immediate superiors' attitude was icy, CID was like the tundra. As she explained it all again to the DI and the DCI, her knees felt weak. Neither of them said a word as she re-told the story for the third time. As she reached the end, and there was still little or no reaction, she felt compelled to say something, to try anything to reach them. To tell them she was sorry.

Finally, she just said it outright: "I'm sorry."

"PC Armstrong, you were given a direct order, and you failed to carry that out. DS Turner is lucky to be alive." Impassive, Manson looked away. He was hard to read, but she was convinced she heard disgust in his tone.

Sally would have tried again, as she wanted to know how Stuart was, but the ice in the DCI's voice as he dismissed her was too much to take.

Even her uniformed colleagues were looking at her sideways. Inspector Weston restricted her to the station. Ben and Mel were warily giving her a wide berth. Nobody really wanted to talk about it. By the end of shift she wanted to sit down and cry. As she changed into her street clothes, she made up her mind. No one would tell her how Stuart was, though she needed to know. The day couldn't get any worse.

Picking up her bag, she hurriedly left the building. She planned to make one stop along the way. She wasn't even certain if he would let her get that close, but she had to try. And she had to take something. Turning up empty handed after her actions had nearly killed him would be wrong; she had no idea of Stuart's tastes and preferences, but a basket of fruit seemed like a good idea.

_A good idea_--she rather wished she'd had one of those when she was sitting in the car, watching. Perhaps she could have moved the car? Anything. Turn back the clock, reset... rewind. Anything at all but the film that was playing in her head: Stuart Turner risking his life to save her unworthy person from the consequences of her own stupidity.

Her body remembered his weight driving her to the ground and out of the line of fire, her hands remembered his blood soaking her clothes, and her mind was on loop, replaying that moment over and over and over again.

Knees shaking, she walked up to the desk and enquired. A nurse pointed the way. She managed to thank the woman in something near a normal voice and walked down the corridor.

_Towards zero_. She reached his room and paused. Summoning up some courage from somewhere, she forced her reluctant legs to walk. Pushing the door open, she entered.

At first she thought he was asleep. Although looking at him, she would have thought sleep was impossible. From what she could see, he was dressed in one of those unbecoming hospital gowns, his left arm was resting on some kind of support, and he was heavily swathed in bandages. She couldn't see the full extent of the bandaging, but she was certain it covered most of his upper body and left arm.

"I don't bite."

She nearly jumped out of her skin as he spoke.

"I – er..." Moving a little closer, she put down the basket of fruit on his bedside table. There were a few cards; the nearest had wobbly child's writing, and, unable to contain her curiosity, she took a little peek. Daisy hoped that her Uncle Stuart would be better soon.

Encouraged that he wasn't either shouting at her or giving her the frost treatment, Sally pulled up a chair and sat down.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mummified." The dark eyes opened, and he grinned at her. "On the plus side, I'm also drowning in painkillers, so I can't feel much."

The fingers of her left hand strayed across the sheets to his good right hand, and paused. And she looked up at him as unexpected warmth covered her trembling fingers. "I..." His face blurred as her tears gathered and fell.

"I know," he said.

"I...."

"You're sorry. Well, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have left you for so long." His hand squeezed hers. "Although next time..."

"Stay in the car," she finished for him. Even managed a slightly watery smile.

He shifted slightly, and winced. Part of her wanted to leap up to plump his pillows for him and soothe his fevered brow, but they didn't have that sort of relationship and she couldn't impose. He might have said that he couldn't feel much, but the lines of strain on his face told a different story.

He closed his eyes again, and she wondered if she should go. His hand was still holding hers, and she gently tried to remove hers from his grasp.

"Stay." He muttered. She looked down at her hand clasped by his, and nodded. She owed him that much at least, support for what he was going through. "Sure, if you want me to."

She settled back in the chair, and turned her hand so that she could hold his.

A knock at the door, and a young woman appeared with a tray. "Dinner." She announced, depositing the tray on the table, and moving it up close to Stuart, departing as suddenly as she arrived.

He scowled. Sally stood up, and opened the packet of plastic cutlery for him. "Here." She held out the flimsy plastic implement.

Stuart took it, and held it up, examining it in disgust. "Be still my beating taste buds." He poked the curious white square-shaped mound, "nothing in the animal or vegetable kingdom comes in a square... covered in what looks like wallpaper paste." He held up the implement. "And a spork."

Sally giggled.

"In the cupboard, top drawer, my wallet and my mobile." Stuart dropped the spork and pushed the tray away. Sally pulled the drawer open, and fished out the items.

"Thirteen on speed dial, order dinner for two." The door opened, and Jo stuck her head in.

Stuart smiled, "hi."

"How are you feeling?" Jo frowned slightly as she registered Sally's presence.

"Better make that dinner for three." Stuart held out his good hand to his friend.

Sally dithered. Jo's withering frown was enough. "Are you sure?"

"Dinner for three," he said firmly. "Menu B. Oh, and mixed sushi, sashimi. Can you go and get it. They don't deliver."

Sally looked doubtfully at Jo, she could sense that the older woman didn't particularly like her being there. But Stuart nodded and smiled at her, so she took the phone and the fifty pounds from his wallet, and left them alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Out in the street, Sally dialled the number on Stuart's mobile. Speed dial 13 turned out to be a fancy Japanese restaurant near where she knew he lived. She asked for directions.

Pulling up in a parking spot opposite the restaurant, she walked over. This was a little insight into what made Stuart tick and she was curious. He'd treated her kindly, even though he was in considerable pain because of her actions, which didn't quite jibe with her previous view of him. Ordering the meal for three, she was flummoxed by the supplementary questions, but when she explained that it was for Stuart Turner, the waiter seemed to know him well. Nate had been right when he'd described Stuart's upmarket flat, and apparently comfortable bachelor lifestyle, but the fact that he ate at a restaurant often enough for the staff to know him by his first name, made her wonder if it really was "living the dream". It sounded like rather a lonely existence to her.

She pondered Stuart's lonely existence on her way back to the car. She had reason to know that he wasn't actually the arrogant arse that the relief thought he was. Suddenly she wanted to know more.

Arriving back at St Hugh's, she made her way back to Stuart's room. He seemed to be dozing when she pushed the door open, Jo was sitting next to him, holding his hand and talking in a low voice. Sally hesitated.

"Food at last." Stuart muttered, and moved again. This time he stiffened, biting his lower lip and screwing his eyes shut.

"Stu, this is a bad idea," Jo was on her feet, bending over him, her expression anxious, "let me get a nurse."

"No. I'm alright."

"You don't look alright." Jo sounded very worried, and Sally had to agree with her. Stuart looked a lot worse than he had a couple of hours ago. He seemed to rally a bit when she laid the spread out in front of him, but he gave up after a few pieces of sushi.

They ate in silence for a while. Jo ate one handed, her other hand holding Stuart's. He seemed to have drifted off to sleep.

"I'm sorry." Sally could feel the unfriendly vibes.

There was a silence, and for a moment Sally thought Jo wasn't going to speak to her.

"That's just it though, Sally, isn't it? You think you know it all, that you're in the big picture. So you just go ahead and do or say whatever it is that comes into your mind. And then you act accordingly, and other people are put at risk." Jo's tone was sad rather than accusatory, and Sally shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"But Stuart..." she started.

"Stu's responsible for the result, and he's responsible for you. It may not seem like it to you and Mel and all the others, but he takes that responsibility very seriously." Jo looked across at her sometime partner, "that's part of Stu's problem, he throws everything he has into the cases, and not just for brownie points with Meadows. Because somehow winning is everything to him. It's a compulsion; to come out ahead re-affirms his belief in himself."

"But why?"

"Who else is going to believe in him? Or so he thinks. He's been on his own over half his life."

Sally stared at her, "how do you know all this?"

Jo pushed her plate away, "I learnt to look and listen a long time ago, Sally. If you looked at what's in front of you, and listened to what people are saying instead of assuming, you will go far."

"I meant about Stuart."

"I listened once to some wise advice, and found a good friend because of it." Jo looked down at Stuart's hand, clasped in hers. "He was in surgery for nearly five hours yesterday, and they don't know if the damage to his radial nerve is permanent, he's trying so hard to be brave about it."

"I didn't mean it to happen."

"No. You didn't. But it did, and Stu may have to live with the consequences of that for the rest of his life."


	4. Chapter 4

Sally thought a lot about what Jo had said. And she had to acknowledge that Jo was right. She didn't listen nearly enough.

_And the consequences were?_

She had gone back the next night. Not that Stuart was a friend, but because she felt responsible, she had got him into that situation. He had risked his life to save her from disaster. And she wondered about that. In a quiet moment in the locker room, she admitted to herself that she was intrigued.

So she went back, hoping that somehow she would get some answers to the riddle that was pounding away in her head; things had deteriorated. He was no longer sitting up, they'd put his bed down into the prone position so that he could lie flat, and he was curled up on his right side; huddled into the blankets, as though he was freezing cold. But when she touched his hand, his skin was burning hot. He looked so sick, and so thoroughly miserable she couldn't help but stay. Now she really was confused, because this didn't feel like duty or responsibility.

It was quite late. He hadn't moved from the spot since she arrived, he was just curled up looking as sick as she had ever seen anyone, so she dropped the cot-side to the bed; she could get a little closer. Just to hold his hand, make physical contact and show some solidarity for his very painful situation, _and that's all it is -- sympathy _she told herself. "Stuart." She called his name softly, they'd impressed upon her the need to keep him quiet. His fingers closed round hers.

"Hurts." He muttered.

"What hurts? Your shoulder? Should I get the nurse?" Sally tentatively reached over and laid the back of her hand against his forehead. His skin was burning up.

"no...don't go... I'll be... alright." He closed his eyes and his fingers clutched hers a little tighter.

Sally's free hand hovered, as though it had will of its own, having made contact with his forehead. Her fingers gently stroked his hair. She surprised herself, it felt very intimate to be that close to him, and she had never imagined intimacy with Stuart Turner. Without all the smarm and arrogance, he was an attractive man. _Whoa, where did that one come from?_

She was looking at him with different eyes. He hadn't reacted to her the way she had expected. It felt like the whole station was blaming her for his being wounded. But Stuart hadn't. And that had come as something of a shock. He had been kind to her. Kind wasn't a word that most people applied to Stuart; Mel, only that morning, had rolled her eyes and made some off-colour comment about Stuart being an arrogant glory boy.

Seeing him like this, flat out, desperately ill, fighting an infection; and the most outrageous thoughts were running through her head. He wasn't who she had thought he was. All that arrogance was simply his belief in himself, and his barrier. Now she could see behind the barrier. She couldn't be certain if her feelings were engaged or if it was pity for his situation. It was all rather confusing really.

The door opened behind her. Sally looked round, it was Jo. The older woman acknowledged her, which was something of a surprise to Sally; Jo had been one of Sally's fiercest critics. It had to be for Stuart's sake that Jo was being a little more friendly. Sally moved over so that Jo could sit down.

"Stu?"

His eyes opened, and lit up a little at the sight of his partner. "Hi" he croaked.

"Hi to you too."

Sally's fingers let go of Stuart's as Jo's hand sought his.

Sally stood up, suddenly she needed to get out of there. Go somewhere and think. Tempting as it was to call Ben and Mel, then go out and party, she sensed she would be running away from the real issue. Her inexplicable feelings for DS Stuart Turner.

_Ben._ She had been enjoying a flirtation with Ben for some time. They'd partied and flirted for quite a while. Ben was safe, he liked her, and he let her be herself. Good Time Party Girl Sally! She sensed Stuart would be very different. He was older than Ben, if the rumours were true, quite well-off, had a nice flashy flat; _and a good job_. Sally smiled to herself. Her mother's mantra came back, _find a man with a good job who works hard, no shiftless ne'er do wells._ Well Stuart fit the former category.

She couldn't believe she was even thinking about Stuart in those terms. _He wasn't boyfriend material, he didn't even like her. He thought she was an airhead._

Through the days which followed, she picked the bones of every conversation they'd had. From his bossy instructions to her before the operation, to all the encounters she had had with him. She replayed the arrogant office Stuart versus the much quieter version. Returned night after night to sit by his bedside, to offer him support and silently pray that her foolish mistake was not going to cost him dear.

Finally, they said he could go home. A strange stilted awareness had grown up between them as he recovered from the infection and began to take an interest in life again. But she had begun to cherish the alone time she had with him.

After shift was over, she drove by his flat. Pulled into the car park. Sat in her car and wondered what had got into her head. The rest of the relief would laugh to see her there. And pour scorn on what she was about to do.

The front door to the building was open, and she entered into the cool modern hallway. Fourth floor Nate had told her, number 65. Stuart was living the dream according to Nate. She wondered if that was what she was doing... living in a dream world, where none of this was reality. It wasn't her reality. But something pushed her into the lift and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

She was outside the door to his flat. Number 65. For second she rested her hand on the door, the flat of her palm against the cool veneer, this wasn't her, she didn't know why she was there.

She pressed the doorbell. For a moment there was silence, then the sound of footsteps coming towards the door. She stood rooted to the spot, contemplating flight in her suddenly cowardly heart. The door opened.

Upright on his feet, he seemed different, more commanding than she remembered. Then she started to notice the little things. He was paler and thinner than before the shooting, his left arm resting in a sling, he looked tired, slightly disorientated and suddenly all she wanted to do was take care of him. _It's just sympathy, _she convinced herself.

"Sally." The stilted awkwardness was there still, but she stepped forward, and he opened the door a little wider so that she could enter. She paused as he pushed the door closed. They were close, only a few inches separated them. He was scarcely a couple of inches taller than her, she tilted her face up slightly and brushed her lips to his. His response was gentle and hesitant, and she liked that, running on instinct she slipped a little closer. His good arm slid around her waist, and they leaned into each other gently exploring.


End file.
